Last Shadow Warrior

by Sam Subity

  Oh, great. It sounded like the cat was out of the bag on that one. I was really going to have to play this sport I knew literally nothing about. And probably make a major fool of myself. “It’s no biggie. Really.”

  He stopped and stared at me like I was from Mars. Then he shook his head as if to clear it and started walking again. “No biggie? It’s only, like, the most important sport at Vale. It’s practically a religion here. It’s been”—he paused to count on his fingers—“well, more than three years since we won the cup. And they’re only allowed to offer one scholarship each year. So, if you got one to play here, then they must be expecting big things from you.” He grinned and added, “No pressure.”

  Suddenly I had a sick feeling in my stomach. And it wasn’t just Grimsby’s syrupy concoction. Why would they give me a sports scholarship when I was obviously going to be exposed as a fake as soon as I stepped onto the field? Or court. Dojo? Well, wherever they played knattleikr. I stopped at the street corner to wait for the signal to cross, but Grimsby kept walking.

  When he noticed I wasn’t with him anymore, he stopped in the middle of the street and turned back to me. “What are you doing?”

  “Um, the light?” I said, gesturing to the glowing orange hand signaling us to wait.

  Then I watched in horror as a red pickup sped toward him. Right when I was sure he was about to become the next traffic statistic, the truck braked and skidded to a stop. The driver actually smiled and waved apologetically, like it was his fault.

  Grimsby turned to me with an expression like “See?”

  I laughed and jogged across after him. “If you’d tried that in Charlotte, you’d be someone’s new hood ornament right now.”

  “Welcome to Minnesota, eh?” he said.

  On the next block sprawled a vast, grassy campus dotted with live oaks and maples. The ribbon of a stream glinted in the distance, and patches of snow melted in the early morning sun. A huge stone archway read “Vale Hall” in giant bronze letters at the base of a curving main drive flanked by matching rows of massive fir trees all the way up to an imposing black stone structure set on top of a small rise. A tall clock tower thrust up from the middle of the cluster of buildings like a finger challenging the sky.

  It felt like we’d just stepped out of suburban Minneapolis and onto the grounds of a medieval castle. But not like the Disney kind, with deer and rabbits frolicking in the middle distance. This one gave off more of a Frankenstein’s-castle vibe.

  I froze there on the edge of campus, suddenly paralyzed by my old self-doubt and fears. Who was I fooling? I’d never be half the student my mom was.

  “You okay?” Grimsby said.

  I quickly recovered, pretending I’d just stopped to take in the view and hurrying to catch up with him. “Wow, it’s, um …”

  “Forbidding? Menacing? Uncomfortably off-putting?”

  I laughed. “I was going to say ‘huge,’ but … No way, is that a Lamborghini?”

  We were just passing by a shiny red sports car when its passenger door slowly lifted vertically like a bird’s wing. A kid with perfect white-blond hair and designer sunglasses slid out smoothly like he was swaggering out of a music video. Suddenly an image popped into my head of the kid emerging from a bird’s armpit. A shiny red bird’s armpit. I slapped my hand over my mouth to hide the giggle that threatened to bubble out of it, hoping my eyes wouldn’t give me away.

  “What’s so funny?” the kid said.

  Too late. How do you explain to someone that you just pictured them stepping out of an armpit? “Nothing,” I mumbled.

  He eyed me for another few seconds, then raked his hand through his glossy locks and spun away toward the school. We followed the rest of the drop-off line, which could have been an exotic car convention.

  “Don’t let all the fancy-schmancy stuff fool you,” Grimsby said. “Vale has the same types of doofuses and miscreants as most schools. They just drive nicer cars and wear better clothes.”

  We headed for a pair of towering oak doors thrown wide to a steady incoming stream of kids in maroon blazers. What looked like a Latin phrase was carved over the doors.

  “Omnium rerum principia parva sunt?” I read.

  “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here,” Grimsby translated.

  I stopped and looked up at the words. “Really?” But Grimsby was already several steps ahead of me. I rushed after him. “You’re kidding … right?”

  “Ms. Beckett. Welcome.”

  I spun toward the voice, surprised to hear my name. At the top of the entrance stairs stood a thin, grim-looking woman with graying hair pulled back into a tight bun, wearing a dark skirt and matching jacket. She extended her hands toward me, so I awkwardly stuck mine out and she clasped them firmly in both of hers.

  “Um, thank you,” I said.

  Her smile was the barest tightening of her lips. “I’m Professor Roth, the headmaster here at Vale Hall. I wanted to be the first to welcome you and wish you well in your pursuits at our school. Your mother was very well-regarded during her time here.” She paused and studied me with a penetrating gaze. “We expect great things from you as well.”

  Maybe it was the crushing weight of those expectations. Or the way she still held my hands trapped in hers. But abruptly I felt on the verge of hyperventilating. I shot a look over my shoulder, trying to locate Grimsby, but he seemed to have disappeared.

  “Perhaps we can find a time to speak at greater length soon,” Professor Roth continued, and I felt the lessening of pressure as she released my hands.

  “Uh-huh,” I managed. “Yeah, catch you later.” I groaned inwardly even as the words came out of my mouth. Catch you later? I backed away, wishing I could simply melt into the crowd of kids, then felt a hand on my shoulder.

  I spun and saw Grimsby regarding me with his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. “What was that about?”

  “Oh, nothing.” I felt my pulse slowly returning to normal. “She just wanted to, you know, welcome me to Vale.”

  “Well, sorry I sort of disappeared there. I’m not exactly numero uno on her favorite students list.” He studied me appraisingly. “But maybe you have a shot at it.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “It’s not like she makes the time to personally welcome every student. You’re obviously special.”

  The medieval castle theme continued on the inside of the school. Huge dark stones fitted tightly along the walls were interspersed with heavy timber beams supporting the arched ceiling. High on the walls, sconces held what looked like real torches, which cast a flickering light through the maze of classrooms and corridors.

  “Hold on a sec. I’ll be right back,” Grimsby said.

  I turned toward him in time to see him disappear through a nearby doorway. A sign next to the door read “KNUT” above the glowing red words “On Air.” I took the opportunity to quietly slip the smoothie he’d given me into a nearby trash can, my head still buzzing from my earlier sip. Watching the sea of unfamiliar faces as they passed, I felt very alone. Wishing I hadn’t left my dad’s side. Would he somehow sense I was gone? Was he feeling scared and alone too? Maybe this had been a mistake. I should have been spending my time with him, not going to class and—

  “Sorry about that. All set.” Grimsby’s voice broke into my thoughts as he reappeared at my side.

  I took a long, slow breath, fighting down the panicky feeling. Dad was going to be fine. The doctor had promised.

  Grimsby frowned at me. “Are you sick? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, and nodded toward the door he’d just come from. “What was that about?”

  “Oh, that’s the school radio station. So great you K-NUT believe your ears.” He paused expectantly.

  I groaned.

  “Hmm, I guess I still need to workshop that one a little more.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I normally help out with morning announcements, so I just wanted to remind them I’m out today on account of showing you around.�
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  “They let sixth graders on the air?”

  “Well, technically I’m the backup to the backup’s backup. So I haven’t actually been on the air yet. But I’m just one good laryngitis outbreak away from my moment in the sun.”

  He pointed to another door up ahead. “So our first class is world history with Dr. Ruel. Everyone just calls him Doc for short. Supposedly he has like a dozen PhDs, so what he’s doing teaching here instead of some Ivy League school is a mystery. Anyway, he’s the most popular teacher at Vale. Just remember the key words: ‘I’m having trouble picturing that.’ ”

  “Why? What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Just wait. You’ll see.”

  “Mr. Grimsby, I hope you’re not planning to take that food into the classroom,” said a voice behind us. I turned to see a tall, thin man with graying hair, his arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

  “Uh, no, sir,” said Grimsby.

  “I didn’t think so.” The man was still talking to Grimsby, but his gaze had fixed on me, pinning me with an uncomfortable stare for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, without another word he turned and continued down the hall.

  I blinked and shuddered as I watched him go. “Who was that?”

  “That’s Mr. Wendel,” Grimsby said. “Science teacher. Prefers using students instead of rats in his experiments. Let’s just say you don’t want to get on his bad side.”

  Grimsby looked at my empty hands, then tilted his head to study my backpack. “You must have been hungry, eh?” He slurped at the last of his breakfast.

  I’d been hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Uh, yeah. Starving.”

  Which was the truth. I was kicking myself for forgetting Bryn’s croissants at the hospital. The couple of sips I’d had of the orange concoction still rolled sourly in the pit of my stomach.

  He shrugged. “Go ahead and grab a seat. I’ll join you in a sec. Doc lets us sit anywhere we want.”

  The classroom was half-full already when I entered, but I spotted a couple of seats in the back and wedged my flannel-wrapped bulk into a desk. It was uncomfortably warm inside with my extra layers. I looked down, thinking I was going to have to find somewhere to ditch some of the clothes, when someone stopped in front of me.

  “Hey, chica, that’s my seat.”

  Chica? I looked up into the face of a boy with blond hair, smoky-gray eyes, and perfect white teeth. I disliked him immediately. “Excuse me?”

  “That seat.” He gestured to where I was sitting. “It’s mine. Move it.”

  Normally I consider myself a reasonable person. But being chased by a gun-toting giant, witnessing my dad’s near death, and barely having had any decent sleep or food for the last few days had left me in no mood to conduct a peaceful negotiation.

  “So? There’s lots of others,” I said, waving my hand to indicate the dozen or so empty desks. “I was told we could sit anywhere we want.”

  As he frowned down at me, he ran his fingers through his hair. Wait. This was the same kid from earlier. Armpit boy. I hadn’t recognized him immediately without the sunglasses.

  A slight narrowing of his eyes indicated he’d registered who I was in the same instant. “Hey, you’re that girl from outside. Lady Ha-ha.” He gestured to my threadbare clothes. “Or no, wait, wait, I’ve got it … Taylor Thrift?”

  I squashed down an urge to drop-kick him into the hallway. Already I’d nearly resorted to violence twice in one morning. The day wasn’t off to a great start.

  He was smirking at me now. “So, Ms. Thrift, why haven’t I seen you around here before? Are you new? What’s your name?”

  “My. Name. Is. Abby. Beckett,” I said, biting the end off every syllable. “And yeah, I’m new. Why? Who are you?”

  He spread his hands out, palms turned up. “Everyone knows who I am. I’m Chase Lodbrok.” He leaned closer and finished in a mocking tone. “Now. Get. Out. Of. My. Seat.”

  Other kids were starting to turn around in their seats to witness our standoff. But I wasn’t backing down. Everyone knows who I am. Spare me. “Lodbrok?” I shot back. “Did you know in Norse that means ‘fuzzy pants’? So why don’t you … and your fuzzy pants … find another seat?”

  Chase’s grin stayed frozen on his face, but his eyes went cold. “I don’t think you get it,” he said. “So let me explain it more slowly. I sat here yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. So it’s my seat.”

  I held his gaze. “This is today. What does yesterday have to do with me?”

  “An excellent question, Ms. Beckett,” a voice boomed from the front of the room.

  I looked past Chase to a short man standing by the whiteboard with a perfect horseshoe of hair around a shiny bald head, giant Coke-bottle glasses, and a handlebar mustache. Dr. Ruel, or Doc, I guessed. The whole package didn’t exactly say “most popular teacher in school” to me.

  He gestured to my new friend to take another seat. Chase glared at me and then slammed angrily into a seat in the next row.

  Doc watched him for a minute, then looked up at the class and continued, “Indeed, what does the past have to do with any of us, really?”

  “Sorry, no, I didn’t mean—” I started.

  “No, it’s quite all right,” he said, holding up a hand. “It’s a valid question.” He turned to the whiteboard and wrote in large letters “WHY DOES THIS MATTER?”

  Turning back to the class, he said, “An important question to answer if we’re to be certain we’re not spending all this time in idle study.”

  He scrawled “1492” on the board. “All week we’ve been studying the age of exploration. Now, at some point you all likely learned the rhyme ‘In fourteen hundred ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.’ There they are: the Niña, the Pinta, and the Santa María, appearing on the coastline of a new land. But were they the first non-native peoples to arrive in North America?”

  Grimsby caught my eye as he slid into a desk a few rows over and winked. Then his hand shot up.

  “Yes, Mr. Grimsby?”

  “Um, sir, I’m having trouble picturing that.”

  Doc stared at him for a beat, then nodded and, without another word, turned back to the board, his hand launching into action as he started to sketch a ship, then two more ships. Soon a rippling ocean, waves crashing on a beach, and even a little house with a thin line of smoke trailing from the chimney filled the board. As I witnessed this for the first time, it reminded me of this painter, Bob Ross, that my mom always used to watch on TV. He could somehow make a simple stroke of his paintbrush look like a bird, or a tree, or a mountain range. Similarly now, the class watched in fascination as Doc transformed the whiteboard into a masterpiece of historical edification.

  As the lecture went on, I could start to see why everyone liked this teacher. His teaching style was like a stage performance—a mash-up of fascinating historical tidbits, artwork, and deadpan humor. I tried my best to follow along, but half an hour later, the notebook Grimsby had let me borrow was filled with a confusing jumble of words and arrows interspersed with pathetic stick-figure attempts to reproduce Doc’s art. By tomorrow, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to make any sense of it all.

  A quick movement caught the corner of my eye. I looked up from my notebook in time to see Chase blow into a straw, sending a tiny white projectile into the hair of the girl in front of him. The back of her head and the floor beneath were covered with little white flecks of paper. He shook with silent laughter and fist-bumped the guy next to him. Doc kept lecturing, oblivious in the front of the room. I waited for Chase to reload, then loudly cleared my throat.

  Doc turned just in time to see another spit wad take flight. Chase jerked his hand under his desk, but it was too late.

  “Mr. Lodbrok,” Doc said, frowning. “Please see me after school today for detention. Maybe some time cleaning my classroom floor will help you remember to refrain from disrupting my class.”

  The girl in front of Chase realized what had been happening a
nd shook her head, sending a shower of paper bits to the floor as she shot Chase a dirty look.

  Doc surveyed the room and stopped on me. “Now, Ms. Beckett, something tells me you might know the answer to my question.”

  “Um … sorry?” I stalled, looking down like somehow the answer was going to magically appear on my page. But my notes looked like a traffic accident.

  “The first Europeans to set foot in the New World were …” he prompted.

  I paused. “Uh, the Vikings?”

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “I’m pretty sure it was the Vikings.”

  “Very good,” Doc said. He drew a line through 1492 and wrote “999” below it.

  “The discovery of the New World is commonly credited to Columbus because he established the first permanent European settlements here. But the Vikings actually landed in North America almost five hundred years earlier. Some say our own Bjarni Herjólfsson, or as I believe some of you refer to him, Bellyflop Bjarni”—he paused as chuckles filled the room—“was the first European to sight the New World even before that.”

  In my notes I drew a stick figure of a chubby guy diving into a swimming pool and scrawled “Bellyflop Barney?” above it. I’d have to ask Grimsby about that later.

  “The Vikings have a reputation as raiding barbarians,” Doc continued, “but they made significant contributions in technology, government, and the arts. Indeed, we might even go so far as to ask where we’d all be without the Vikings. Don’t you agree?”

  He looked at me mysteriously. I wasn’t entirely sure if he really wanted me to answer or if it was just a rhetorical question. A chime signaled the end of the period.

  Doc shifted his gaze and said, “Okay, class dismissed. See you all tomorrow. And don’t forget to study. There’s always a chance for a pop quiz.”

  A chorus of groans joined the sound of chairs scraping the floor. I rose to go.

  “A minute, Ms. Beckett,” he said with his back still to me.

  Grimsby pointed toward the hall. “Meet you outside?”

  I nodded.

  “That was a mistake,” Chase said as he shouldered past me on his way out the door.